And A Baby Makes Three
by lissy303
Summary: A drunken night leads to some wonderful challenges that Sherlock never expected to face. As long as Molly is by his side, he'll do just fine. Written for tumblr's Sherlolly Valentine's Day Fic-a-Thon in honor of savetheworldbutloseyou. Happy Valentine's Day!


_A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! This was written in response to the Sherlolly Valentine's Day Fic-a-Thon on tumblr, and is dedicated to the lovely _savetheworldbutloseyou,_ my secret Valentine :) I'm not quite sure this is what you had in mind, but here's the mess that rambled out of me!_

_Disclaimer: No, not mine. And thank you to the wonderful broomclosetkink for hosting this!_

* * *

><p>"No. No, no, no, no, no!"<p>

Squeezing her eyes shut, Molly turned away from the tiny piece of plastic resting on her sink. When she turned around, it would look different. It would have to. Because there was no way she was...

She looked back, her stomach dropping as she realized it looked exactly the same as it had for the past five minutes.

It was a pregnancy test. And it was positive.

* * *

><p>It had been six... no, seven weeks ago. Moriarty had been defeated for good this time. Molly's life had been in danger. Sherlock had come to the rescue. Just a typical week in London, Molly had thought humorlessly.<p>

Exhausted and relieved, Molly had gone to a pub across the street from her flat. After a drink or two, she had texted Sherlock and something about appreciating him. Not necessarily his intellect or his skills in deduction, but _him_. Something along those lines at least; she couldn't quite remember.

The next thing she knew, he sat down next to her at the bar and ordered himself a whisky. Then a scotch. And finally a few shots of tequila, which he shared with Molly. She didn't remember what they talked about, but she remembered laughing, more than she thought she would. She remembered his eyes crinkling as he laughed too, his eyes shining in excitement. She remembered thinking how _normal_ they were acting, just two friends having a drink (or several) at the pub together.

Then the alcohol was gone, and the two began to sober up. She remembered he had looked sad, the glint in his eyes gone. She had pointed it out to him, and he had told her she always knew. The barkeep had stopped by them, saying he was closing up and could he call them a cab? Molly shook her head as Sherlock paid, grabbing his arm and pulling him across the street to her flat. She had wanted to take care of him, though in the state she had been in, she could hardly take care of herself.

The rest of the night was fuzzy. They had sat on her couch beside each other, slowly sipping water. Then she had been straddling him, her hands in his hair as his tongue swept into her mouth. Then they had been in her bed, wearing very little, then nothing at all.

She had woken up far later than normal with her head pounding and her vision blurry. It had taken her a few moments to realize that she hadn't been wearing any clothes, which had been unusual. The clothes she had been wearing the night before had been thrown into her laundry bin. Wrapping her robe around her, she stumbled into the hallway to head for the bathroom. When she saw her living room furniture moved around slightly, she froze. Slowly and hazily, bits of the night before came to her.

The startling revelation (not to mention she was very, _very_ hungover) caused her to fly to the loo as fast as she could and throw up anything and everything that remained in her stomach. When she had finally finished, she sat on the floor, leaning against the tub with her head in her hands.

She had had sex with Sherlock Holmes. And she couldn't even remember it.

A small voice in the back of her mind asked her which fact she was more disappointed with.

She crawled into her tub and turned the shower on. As the hot water hit her body, she had allowed the warm tears to escape down her face.

* * *

><p>And now she was pregnant.<p>

She had texted Sherlock an apology for her behavior when she had finally started feeling better. She received a text from him shortly after with a similar sentiment. And that was that. He rarely came down to the lab anymore, and when he did he was strangely formal. Whatever bit of friendship they had disappeared after that night.

Now he was going to be a father of her baby.

Fighting the urge to throw up again, she tossed the test into the rubbish bin. She quickly swept out of her bathroom, stopping as she looked around her flat.

Her guest room could certainly be transformed into a nursery. She had enough room in her own bedroom for her workspace. Maybe should could even fit the desk in the living room if she moved the couch to under the window. The location of her flat was terrible. It was in a nice enough neighborhood. There was even a daycare down the street; she passed it on her way to Bart's every day...

Panic surged through her as she gasped. She was going to be a mother. A _mother_. There was a child growing inside her, and in seven or so months, it would be in the world. In her arms. In her flat... and Sherlock was the father. Would he abandon them? Would he care for the child? Would he want anything to do with them?

Fighting back a sob, she grabbed her phone and found the familiar contact. She waited as it rang and rang and rang, silently praying the phone would connect soon. "Hello?" a familiar voice echoed through the phone.

"Mary?" Molly bit her lip, fully aware her voice was shaking.

"Molly? Love, what's wrong?"

"Can you come over?" Molly's voice gave out as a sob escaped her. "Please?"

...

Molly paced frantically in her living room while she waited for Mary. Her mind was at war with itself. Part of her argued she could do this, Sherlock be damned. She mentally started decorating the nursery, picking out names, figuring out work and nanny schedules. Then she would lose it and cry, because there was no way she could do this, certainly not on her own, and definitely not with Sherlock. Then she would calm herself down and start planning again.

It was a vicious circle, and she was getting dizzy.

Her doorbell rang, and she swung the door open. Mary stood on the other side, looking alarmed, carrying four month old Sheryl. The baby giggled at the sight of her "aunt," and immediately Molly started weeping.

"Molly, dear, come on," Mary said gently, pushing Molly towards the couch. Molly fell to the seat, cradling her head in her hands as sobs wracked her body. Mary sat beside her, gently rubbing her back and whispering words of comfort while balancing Sheryl on her lap. Baby Sheryl reached over and tugged on Molly's loose hair, and Molly couldn't help but giggle. Mary smiled and passed Sheryl to Molly's lap. "I'll make tea," she said, standing and walking to her kitchen.

Molly turned Sheryl around on her lap so the baby faced her, her chubby legs resting on either side of Molly's waist. Sheryl was an extremely happy baby, always smiling and gurgling, very unlike her namesake. Sherlock was unable to convince the Watsons to give their baby daughter his name, but they were happy to dedicate her name to him.

Sheryl giggled again, a bit of drool dripping from the side of her mouth. Molly wiped it away, smiling as tiny hands grabbed her larger one. Though Sheryl was still very young, she could see both parents in the little girl. She had Mary's lips, but John's fair hair. It made Molly wonder what her own baby would look like. What characteristics would it take from her, and what would it take from Sherlock? Part of her hoped her child would have Sherlock's beautiful eyes, yet she knew she would always see Sherlock staring back at her...

A fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes at the thought. Mary hurried over with two mugs and picked Sheryl off of her lap. "Let me get her settled in her bassinet and then we'll chat." Molly nodded mutely, picking up her tea. A few moments later, Mary sat beside her and grabbed her hand. "What's going on, love?"

Molly sniffled again, unable to look her friend in the eye. Staring at the corner of the table, she replied. "I'm pregnant." Mary stayed silent, but squeezed her hand, urging her to continue. Molly told her of the night with Sherlock, how they were both drunk and she hardly remembered anything.

"We must not have used protection. I don't think I have anything here, and I had forgotten to pack my pills when they sent me into hiding... Oh, God," she cried, withdrawing her hand from Mary's to hide her face again. "What am I going to do, Mary? This is Sherlock we're talking about. I don't even know if he likes kids! And he's married to his work, he'll never have time for a child. I don't know if I can do this on my own..."

"Stop that now, Molly," Mary urged, though very gently. "First of all, regardless of who the father is, you'd never be on your own. We'd never let you. You have too many people in your life who love you, and we'll always be here for you." Her kind words made Molly sob harder out of sheer relief. "And about Sherlock..." Mary sighed. "I don't really know. He's wonderful with Sheryl, but I don't think John's ever left her alone with him. But he has a strong sense of what's right. He knows it takes two people to make a baby, and that it should be both of their responsibility." She squeezed Molly's hand again. "Talk to him, love. He needs to know. You'll feel better once he knows. We can decide how to go forward from there. Do you want me to be there when you tell him?"

Molly sighed, straightening up. She wiped her eyes and squeezed her friend's hand back. "No," she said. "As much as I want you there, I think it should just be me. I'll head over there tonight. I just need to wrap my own head around it first." She looked up at her friend, grateful for her help and advice. "Thank you, Mary. Really, I mean it."

"Of course, Molly. If you're going tonight, I'll talk to John beforehand. I'm sure Sherlock will seek his advice, and it may be best to give John some warning that Sherlock can indeed procreate." The pair laughed, and Mary turned towards Molly, crossing her legs sideways on the couch. "Now tell me, because I really need to know, how was he? Oh, I don't want to know. Yes I do. Tell me before I change my mind."

By the time Mary left a few hours later, Molly felt lighter and much, much better. She started to feel like maybe she could do this after all. Mary texted her once she returned home to let her know John had returned, so Sherlock would most likely be at 221B by himself. Molly's stomach dropped again at the thought of telling Sherlock.

Could she really do this?

* * *

><p>Though it was barely seven in the evening, Sherlock had already donned his pyjamas and robe. He had played his violin for a while, reorganized parts of his mind palace, and updated his blog since he had returned home from a case with John. That was only 45 minutes ago. He sighed and threw himself onto his chair, his limbs dangling awkwardly off the edges, as he turned on the telly. There had to be something on that would amuse him, if only for a little while.<p>

While he was happy Moriarty had been defeated, the criminal had posed a real challenge to Sherlock's intellect. It had been refreshing, like a sip of cold water after a long walk in the heat. Moriarty could never hurt anyone again, but that left Sherlock bored.

He needed to find a new challenge.

A timid knock came from the door, surprising Sherlock. He hadn't heard anyone ring the bell or walk up the stairs. Curious, he strode to the door and threw it open, wondering who could have snuck up on him like that.

It shouldn't have surprised him that it was Molly, but it did.

He hadn't known how to react to her after their night together. He was ashamed he couldn't remember much of it, but it didn't take someone with his intellect to figure out what had happened when he woke up in her bed naked the following morning, feeling sore in places he wasn't normally. Not entirely knowing what to do, he had quickly gotten dressed (as fast as his aching head and queasy stomach would allow him to, at least), and threw her discarded clothes in her laundry bin.

It had been his first sexual encounter since his drug use, and he hated the fact that his first time since had also been under the influence of a different inhibitor. Try as he might, he could only remember a few bits and pieces of that night... the feel of her naked skin under his hands, her hot mouth on his neck, the feeling of when they finally connected. He couldn't remember who made the first move, but she never tried to stop him, and he never tried to stop her.

Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock Holmes did feel attraction to some individuals. He never took the time to place himself in any of the categories or label himself in any way. He had had relations with people of both sexes during his time of addiction, and he could not remember if he enjoyed one more so than the other. He couldn't remember much of that time, to his chagrin; it had been simply and purely about the release that both drugs and sex provided.

He associated sex with drugs, or at the very least, the feeling of being out of control. Once he became clean, he never felt the attraction or the urge to have sex again. Not until he got drunk with Molly. Though he had been inebriated, he felt and remembered more of that night than he ever did in his past. Perhaps because he could remember much of their conversation beforehand, when Molly had told him she appreciated him, _everything_ about him. Molly understood him in a way no one else did, and nothing he did frightened her. He came to realize that he appreciated her just as much.

Sherlock would have been open for trying a night with her again... not just a night, but time in general. He found her interesting to listen to when he wasn't rushed with something more pressing. He knew she was enamored with him and would not be disturbed by anything he told her. They could have an interesting life together.

Not to mention sex with her wasn't as horrible as he remembered it being in the past.

But when he received her cryptic text the following morning, he felt his hope fly out the window. Though she didn't say it, he could tell she regretted her night with him. She apologized for her behavior, blaming the alcohol and the stress from hiding. Taking his social cue, his apologized as well, though he was more confused than sorry.

He never quite figured out how to react towards her, so he avoided her presence at all costs. Only when her assistance was mandatory did he see her, and even then he tried to keep his distance. It made life very difficult for him.

He missed her, he realized, as she stood before him now, nervously chewing her lip. He hadn't missed anyone since he was a child and lost his best friend, Redbeard. He supposed he missed John and Mrs Hudson and the rest of them while he was away, but it was different. He was always coming back, and he knew they would always accept him back, eventually.

Molly was different. He once told her she counted, and it wasn't a lie. He had told her she had mattered most, and it was true. Sherlock was only just beginning to realize how true it was.

"May I come in?" she asked timidly.

Sherlock realized he was blocking the doorway, barring her from entering. He nodded curtly, stepping to the side so she could walk in. She entered and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not shrugging off her coat or putting down her bag. She was uncomfortable, no doubt still feeling vulnerable from their night together, probably coupled with the weeks of silence from him. He should say something, let her know that she was important to him, that he valued her...

"I'm pregnant."

His stomach dropped, followed closely by his jaw. Immediately, his mind began working at a rapid pace. He was obviously the father if she was telling him in such an uncomfortable yet necessary way. They had had sex recently, and sex makes babies. But they had used protection, hadn't they? He attempted to recall the memory, but it was hazy. He vaguely remembered reaching for her night table, sure that she had a condom in there, but then she had leaned forward and gently bit where his neck met his shoulder, and he didn't remember anymore.

"M-mine?" The words were out of his mouth before he could help it, even though his brain had already recognized the fact that it was most likely his.

Her expression was unreadable. "Yes. Not much time for sleeping around when there's a madman on the loose out for your blood," she replied dryly.

She was offended, but he didn't know how to respond. His thoughts were speeding through his head so fast that he couldn't comprehend them. Things like _child, pregnant, fatherhood_ caught his attention. He was going to be a father. Molly was going to be the mother of his child.

Without fully knowing what he was doing or why, he strode forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her tightly to him. He wanted to be sure this wasn't a dream, that this was in fact real. He felt Molly's arms come around his waist and hold him just as tightly. Her body shook in his arms, and he realized she was crying.

Why was she crying? Surely the pregnancy was unexpected, but they could figure it out, couldn't they? Molly was the warmest and kindest person he knew, and if there was anyone cut out for loving a child, it was she. She could teach him what he needed to do, couldn't she?

Was that why she was crying? She was afraid that he would reject her? Instinctively, he wrapped his arms even tighter around her. He wouldn't. He wasn't ready for this, but it didn't matter. He would be ready, when the time came. They would both be ready.

He was going to be a father.

...

"So, impending fatherhood, huh?"

John leaned back on the couch at the familiar flat, looking closely at his best friend. Sherlock sat in his chair with his fingers pressed together under his chin. "It would seem so, yes."

"And how do we feel about it?"

Sherlock replayed the night before and earlier that morning in his head. He and Molly hadn't said a word to each other for the rest of the night. They stood there, in the middle of his living room, for a long while, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Eventually they had moved to the couch, where Sherlock wrapped his arm around her shoulders, while his other hand gripped both of hers. He felt her eyes begin to flutter shut hours later, and he gently roused her and led her to his bedroom, where they both crawled into his bed fully dressed. He held her tight as he felt her tears drip onto his shoulder before she finally fell asleep.

She woke up early in the morning, before the sun had fully risen. Sherlock was still awake, running through everything he knew about babies through his head. She muttered something about getting ready for work and returning to her flat. He walked her out, hugging her close one last time. When she went to pull away, he surprised both of them by leaning in and kissing her forehead. They both stood there, shocked, wanting to say something and hoping the other would speak. But neither did, or could, so she left.

Sherlock had the answers to everything, or at least he used to. But when a potential partner, a baby, and sentiment were involved... "I don't know."

"Now's not the time to not know anything," John said. He leaned forward, staring intently at his friend. "Look, Sherlock, I know that... feelings, and talking about them, aren't your strong suit. But this is bigger than anything you've dealt with. Having a baby changes.. everything."

"I know to expect changes..."

"No, you have no idea what to expect. _I_ had no idea what to expect, and I was in love and marrying my partner. So what are you going to do?"

Sherlock chanced a look at his friend and shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "This is my responsibility as much as it is Molly's..."

"Don't..." John interrupted. "Sherlock, this isn't... this is a child. You are having a _child_."

Tears welled up in Sherlock's eyes. For the first time he could remember, he felt completely overwhelmed. He covered his face with his hands to cover his fear from John, though he knew the effort was fruitless. His shoulders shook as tears streamed down his cheeks. "What am I going to do?"

* * *

><p>Molly trudged up the stairs to her flat, exhausted. Her night had been filled with restless sleep and suddenly awakening, not quite remembering where she had been. Though she hadn't known what to expect, Sherlock's reaction had surprised her. They hadn't said a word to each other, but his physical comfort was more than expected. It was exactly what she had needed.<p>

Still, she didn't know where that left them. She knew he needed time to process everything. What if he had processed things and decided he wanted nothing to do with her or the baby? Molly shook her head, attempting to chase all the 'what ifs' away. She would know nothing until she talked to him.

She pulled out her keys to unlock her door when she noticed it was already unlocked and open. She stood outside the door silently, debating whether she should enter or flee downstairs and call the police. Before she had time to decide, a voice called out her name from inside her apartment. "Molly?"

Molly gently pushed open the door, wondering what on earth Sherlock was doing inside her flat. She stepped in warily, looking around as she did so. Sherlock stood in her dining nook behind the table, where two steaming plates of what looked to be chicken parmesan sat. He glanced up at her, slightly bashful. "You cooked?" she asked.

"Take away," he admitted softly. "I thought... I didn't react well last night. I should have... I don't know. I..." He looked back up at her, and she smiled. He was trying. "We need to talk about..."

She wasn't used to a stuttering Sherlock. It was slightly endearing, or at least it would have been if they weren't planning on discussing their unplanned pregnancy. She removed her coat and placed her bag down. She sat down at her table and looked up at him, silently inviting him to join. He pulled the opposite chair out and sat, unsure.

She picked up her knife and fork and dug in. "Is this from Angelo's?"

He nodded as he did the same. "It is. We turn to what is familiar in times of stress, and John said something about comfort food..."

"Thank you," she said. He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, as he looked back up at her. "I know we need to talk further, but thank you. For trying. For showing you..." she trailed off.

"Neither one of us seems to be able to finish our own sentences tonight."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Apparently not. Why don't we finish dinner, then we'll _talk_?" Sherlock nodded in agreement, and the pair returned to eating.

They talked about unimportant things mostly; things that each would have deemed important had it not been for the elephant in the room. She talked about interesting autopsies she had performed in his absence and some ideas for experiments she had; he told her about some of the cases he had been working on. While the conversation wasn't forced, it didn't feel genuine either. They both knew they were passing time until they needed to have the real conversation.

She carried their empty plates to the sink, and he took the rubbish bin filled with the take away containers out to the curb. For a split second, Molly got a glimpse of what domestic life could be like. But as quickly as the thought came, it disappeared. Sherlock would never be the domestic type. He'd never be the one to arrive home in time for dinner and help clean up. He wouldn't help with chores on the weekends. He would never hold a typical Monday through Friday, nine to five job. And she wouldn't want him to.

But that's what a family would need, wouldn't it?

She heard Sherlock approach behind her, and she realized she was gripping the sink tightly for support. She turned to face him, noticing how uncomfortable and unsure of himself he looked. He stood with his shoulders slumped, looking awkwardly at the floor. She hated seeing him so uncomfortable.

But her heart soared at the thought that he was _trying_. He could have run away. He could have bolted. Granted, he'd have John and Mary, and most likely others, hot on his heels and dragging him back. But on his own accord, he stayed. That counted for something.

She walked towards him and grabbed his hand. He looked up at her looking like a scared little boy. She gently pulled him towards the couch and sat him down. His hand gripped hers tightly, not wanting to let go. It was his subtle way of letting her know he was in this, just as much as she was.

...

He was terrified.

Sherlock Holmes, who had faced London's worst criminals head on, was scared of his pathologist and an unborn baby.

_His_ unborn baby, his mind mentally corrected

He sat on the couch facing Molly, her small hand still engulfed in his larger one. She sat cross-legged on the couch, facing him, leaning towards him. Her free hand mindlessly traced patterns on the back of his hand. She bit her lip, showing she was just as unsure as he was.

Without fully thinking (and wasn't that what got him into this mess?), he leaned forward, drawing her towards him with his free hand. His lips connected with hers, and a surge of warmth exploded in his body. He tangled his hand through her loose hair, and he felt her hand come up and cup his face. The kiss itself didn't last very long, but the heat of her lips remained on his for a long time after she gently pulled away.

"I'm scared," he whispered, his face still millimeters from hers.

"Me, too," she admitted.

She waited for him to say something. It was not often that Sherlock was at a loss for words, but Molly seemed to have the ability to make it so. "What do you need, Molly? I... I've never expected... I never even thought of being a father..."

"What do _you _want, Sherlock?"

He _wanted_ this not to be true. He _wanted_ to continue with his old life. He wanted to be a consulting detective and keep everyone else at arm's length.

Except that wasn't an option. And if he was truly being honest, it hadn't been an option for quite some time. Dealing with Moriarty had been an exception to the rule, but John was now a father himself and held a full time job. Running through London with him would become even less of an option. He liked Mary, he truly did, but her presence was still something he was getting used to, especially with the addition of Sheryl...

He thought about Molly and when they first met. She had been just fresh out of medical school, and he fresh out of rehab. She had been smart, which is why she caught his attention, and enamored with him, which he could openly admit now was the reason he continued working with her. He could always get his way with her.

Since she assisted him the first time with Moriarty, he held a new respect for her. Long gone was her school-girl crush. Though she had become engaged to someone else, he knew it wouldn't last. Her feelings ran too deep for him, and though he knew it probably would have been for the best, he was afraid to let her go.

When Moriarty returned, he knew he'd go after her. Moriarty's one mistake was overlooking the importance of Molly, a mistake he would not make a second time. Sherlock remembered the fear and utter terror he felt when he knew Molly was in danger. He tried to tell himself it was simply because she was a friend, and he owed his protection to her. He was beginning to think differently.

Now, sitting on the couch with Molly, the one who counted, the one who mattered most, he broke down. He told her everything, things he had never uttered aloud to anyone. He told her about his childhood, always feeling inferior to Mycroft, and about Redbeard, his only true friend as a child. He told her about his days at uni, how he was utterly bored and insufferable, and how he came to rely on drugs to get him through. He told her of rehab and the pain and nightmares he experienced while going through withdrawal. How Lestrade was the only one on the force who would give him a chance, and how he was grateful for the initial opportunity, even though he had never admitted out loud. How he knew of Molly's crush early on, and took full advantage of it.

How she saved him on more than one occasion. With helping him fake his death. With hiding him and shielding his secret. With slapping him and helping him get off the drugs a second time. With saving him in his mind palace after he had been shot.

How he had been too afraid to say goodbye to her when he was being exiled.

The sun had long set, and the pair sat together on the couch, both with tears streaming down their cheeks. For so long, Sherlock believed admitting he needed help, admitting defeat, or acknowledging any sort of emotion was a weakness. He hated feeling vulnerable, and he knew that if Molly chose to do so, she could crush him, right then and there.

Molly leaned forward and kissed him gently, holding his face between her palms. "I love you, Sherlock. You must know that by now."

He had once told The Woman that the love she felt for him was a chemical defect found on the losing side. He had told John that Janine falling in love with him was human error. Neither of those definitions fit Molly's love for him. Her love was strength, courage, and perhaps a tad bit of stupidity. Molly was his survival.

"I don't know what love is," he whispered, though there was a glimmer of understanding deep within him.

"Let's figure it out, then."

Molly was the exception to the rule, every time.

* * *

><p>"You're doing what?"<p>

Sherlock straightened his tie, rolling his eyes at John's repeated question. "I'm taking Molly to dinner, and then we're going to the theatre."

"Why?"

"Because Molly and I are dating." He hoped John would leave it alone, but still felt his scrutinizing gaze on his back. He turned to shoot a glare at his friend. "Molly and I are expecting a baby. We enjoy each other's company, and a good relationship between the two parents will be vital to the wellbeing of our child. Molly wants us to be a family."

John's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. "And is that what you want?"

Sherlock sighed, prepared for this question. "I am not opposed to the idea."

"Really?" There was clear disbelief in John's voice.

"With Molly," he said, as if that was explanation enough. John opened his mouth to say respond, but Sherlock interrupted. "Before you say anything, and I know you and Mary have discussed this already, I will not intentionally hurt her. Molly loves me, and has the capability of loving our child. If there was someone who was able to teach me how to love, it's Molly."

John stood and brushed himself off, preparing to leave and let Sherlock finish getting ready for his date. "Well, I don't disagree. But," he said throwing on his jacket. "for what it's worth, Sherlock, you do already love. You may not show it in the conventional way, but you do show it in your own way."

Sherlock paused, unprepared for John's sentiment. "A child should have conventionalism."

"Nah," John replied, shaking his head. "A child needs love, in whatever way you can give it. Don't worry, you'll get there."

...

"I had a lovely time," Molly smiled as they exited the theatre. "Thank you for taking me."

"The acting was... admirable, and the plot believable," Sherlock replied.

Molly stopped and chuckled as she glanced up at Sherlock. "You were bored out of your mind, weren't you?"

He smiled in response, giving her confirmation. "I thought we might walk back to Baker Street for tea, if you're not too tired." She nodded, delighted at the sparkle in his eye. He reached down to hold her hand, and she felt her heart soar as his fingers entwined with hers.

The pair ambled their way back to 221B, discussing nothing in particular. When they arrived, he removed his hand from hers, but not before placing a kiss on the back of her knuckles. But instead of it making her heart skip a beat, her stomach dropped. He didn't notice the change, however, and proceeded to open the front door and usher her in. She was near tears by the time they reached the landing.

"I believe it's customary to offer wine or another alcoholic beverage after a date," Sherlock said, making his way into the kitchen as Molly stood stoically in the middle of the flat. "But given that you are pregnant, it is socially unacceptable for you to indulge in any alcohol. There are more recent studies that say alcohol affecting the fetus is an old wives' tale, but I admit I have not done enough adequate research on the topic, and I personally am not willing to experiment with that with my own child... Molly?"

She realized she was facing the kitchen and tears were streaming down her face. Sherlock hesitated by the table, unsure what caused her sudden change in emotion. She shook her head, wiping her face. "What are you doing, Sherlock?"

He blinked, confused at such an obvious question. "I'm making you tea, at the moment, and discussing whether there has been enough research done on expecting mothers and a moderate use of alcohol."

"No," she sniffed, turning away. "I mean, what are you doing, acting so... normal?" He didn't say anything, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong, even though he had no clue what it could possibly be. "Dinner, the theatre, now tea? This isn't you, Sherlock."

"No?" he asked. He still hadn't moved forward, frozen to his spot by the kettle. "I thought the ritual of dating was a precursor to a typical happy life of companionship. Is this sudden sadness and uncertainty a side effect of your changing hormones?"

"Don't you bring hormones into this!" she yelled, then swiftly turned and sat herself on Sherlock's chair, crying into her hands. Sherlock took a cautionary step backwards, shocked by her sudden outburst. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with the best way to comfort someone while crying.

He slowly moved in front of her chair and kneeled before her, rubbing both hands up and down her arms. Her body slowly stopped shaking, and eventually she sat up, wiping at her face again. "I'm sorry," she whispered as he passed her a box of tissues. "It's just... this isn't you. Not that I'm not enjoying it! But aren't you going to wake up one morning and realize you're tired of putting on a facade?"

He stared at her, really looking at her. Her nose was red, her cheeks puffy, and her eyes watery. She gazed at him, so open and so vulnerable, and it scared Sherlock. Did he really want to have that weakness?

But this weakness brought with it the strength of love. He would learn to be open and vulnerable for her.

He leaned forward and gently kissed her lips. He didn't have too much experience with kissing while sober, and certainly not with someone with whom he wanted to kiss. He cupped her jaw, wiping away errant tears with his thumb. It was awkward because of the situation, because of her crying, and because of his inexperience. But they had time to work on that. To make it better.

"It's not a facade, Molly," he replied, pulling away slightly. His hand still rested on her cheek, and his free one sought hers in her lap. "I admit I don't like dining in public often, and sitting through that play was tedious. But we'll find activities we both enjoy to do together."

She gave him a watery chuckle. "You know I won't be able to solve crimes with you once I'm _really_ pregnant."

"Pregnancy cannot be defined on a scale. You either are pregnant or you're not. You're already pregnant, Molly, you won't be any more pregnant tomorrow."

"You know what I mean," she laughed. She pushed his curls aside, running her hand through his hair. "What do you want, Sherlock? You never really answered that question the other night."

He sighed, enjoying the feeling of her fingers in his hair, but unsure how he wanted to answer her question. "I never thought fatherhood would be part of my future. Then again, I never thought it would be in John's future, either. And even before that, I never suspected John to become such an important aspect of my life. What I'm saying is... I don't account for change easily. I expect things to remain the same. That doesn't mean," he urged, making sure she heard the last of his words. "that I believe change is bad. Change made me realize there were those who considered me a friend. It made me realize that I considered some people friends. And it's made me realize... I want to try something more than friendship. With you.

"I don't understand romance, and I won't pretend to," he continued on. "I feel for you similarly how I feel for John... yet, different somehow. I never had the urge to kiss him or perform anything sexual with him. I never felt attracted to him, contrary to the rumours circulating. Is that love, then? The feeling of close friendship and trust with the addition of sexual attraction?"

"I... I suppose you can view it like that," Molly complied. "What about the baby, Sherlock?"

"Our baby," he corrected, and she smiled. "I enjoy being a godfather and a pseudo-uncle to Sheryl very much. I admit that she's neither as boring nor as daunting as I expected her to be. And both John and Mary agree that whatever your feelings towards children in general, it's very different with your own." He sighed again. "I'm afraid, Molly. Afraid that I won't be enough for you or for our baby. But I want to try. If you're willing to help me..."

"Always, Sherlock," she whispered, leaning in and kissing him gently again. "Always."

* * *

><p>"We should be able to find out the sex of the baby today," Molly said, gripping Sherlock's hand and smiling.<p>

He gave her a smirk as he held the taxi door open for her, watching her as she slid in first. "No need. It's a boy."

"How...?" she asked, turning to face him as he sat beside her. "No, no way. There's no way to know for sure! You couldn't have deduced anything..."

"The way your bump is coming in and the way you waddle."

"I do not waddle!" she cried, unable to hide her amusement as Sherlock chuckled. "Sherlock, you can't tell a pregnant woman she waddles! Besides, that's all old wives' tales. None of that is true." Sherlock smiled, lacing his fingers through hers. "I don't want to know," she admitted. "I want to be surprised."

"But I just told you." He laughed as she gently shoved his shoulder. "Fine, I won't tell you once I get more definite evidence."

A few hours later, the pair returned to Baker Street, pleased that their appointment turned out well. They poured through takeaway menus then waited impatiently for the food to arrive. Molly dug in enthusiastically; she hadn't been able to eat much earlier from nerves. When they finished, she felt her eyes drooping while Sherlock played his violin, when he said something that surprised her.

"Move in with me."

She jerked her head, shaking herself awake. She didn't hear him right, did she? She could only respond with a surprised "what?"

"Move in to Baker Street with me." He waited for her response, but she could only stare at him blankly. "You and I are in a committed, monogamous relationship and expecting a child. We both want to raise our child together, and it makes the most sense to do so in the same household. While your flat is suitable, mine is larger and closer to Bart's. Not to mention it comes with its own nanny," he explained, giving her a small smile. "Mrs Hudson already said not to call her that, but that she would love to watch our child at any time."

Her brain tried to comprehend what he was saying, but none of it was making sense. "You want me to move in with you?"

He glanced off to the side, his smile faltering a bit. "Yes... that is what I'm asking."

"I... uh..." Molly mumbled. This was all happening so fast, _too_ fast. She was only just coming to terms with the idea that Sherlock was a fairly attentive and good boyfriend, but moving in with him? The logical part of her brain knew, of course, that moving in was an acceptable next step for all the reasons Sherlock just listed. But as she told Sherlock time and time again, feelings and sentiment were rarely _logical_. "I... I need time to think. I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting... I should go..."

"Molly, wait," he said, reaching out and gently grabbing her arm. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I thought you'd agree."

"I'm not saying I don't, Sherlock, it's just very sudden..." But so was getting pregnant. So was diving in headfirst into a serious relationship with a man who had no idea if he could love. She knew she should say yes, but why was it so hard?

She still doubted the relationship would last, she supposed. It wasn't fair of her, she could admit, but there it was. She still feared that one day he would wake up and want nothing to do with her or their baby. Maintaining her own apartment was a safety net of some sort; she would always have a place to go if Sherlock deserted them.

He turned her so she faced him, holding her by the waist, and pressed his lips to hers. He felt vulnerable, she realized. Kissing was nothing new for them at this point, though they hadn't yet taken their new-found relationship to the next level. But he was scared of her rejecting him, of pushing him away. As twisted as that was, that gave Molly all the comfort she needed. If he could feel vulnerable, he could feel love.

She leaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers gently tugging at his curls. He responded by readily opening his mouth, letting her tongue sweep in. He pulled her against him, one hand pressing firmly against the middle of her back, and the other gently running his fingers through her pony tail. She pulled away ever so slightly, and he kept his forehead resting against hers.

"Will you stay tonight? Please?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. She nodded, then sealed that promise with a kiss.

Though they had been dating for months, they hadn't slept together again. Sherlock hadn't brought it up, and Molly didn't want to pressure him. She had also feared getting too involved with Sherlock. Co-parenting a child was one thing; as long as they remained civil to each other, they could raise a baby together. But sex was an entirely different thing and would only make her that much more resentful if things didn't work out.

With a new confidence, she broke off the kiss and took his hand, walking backwards and leading him to the bedroom. If Sherlock suspected her intentions, he didn't say anything, just continued to follow her, his hand tightly gripping hers. She closed the door to the bedroom behind them and sat him down on the edge of the bed. He looked nervous, with his hands open across his thighs, his fingers tapping anxiously.

She took a step backwards, well aware of his eyes following her. Taking a deep breath, she swept her shirt off, and without missing a beat, she unhooked her bra and threw it to the floor. Sherlock's wide eyes traced down her torso then back up to her face. Shaking internally, she undid the button on her loosest pair of jeans and shimmied out of them, pulling her panties along with them.

She had never felt so bold, nor so exposed. She very much preferred to be naked with the lights out and under covers. Even with Tom, with whom she had lived and had been engaged to marry, she always wrapped herself in her robe or a shirt when getting up. Now, here she stood, completely bare with the bedside light on in front of Sherlock.

Molly fought the urge to cover herself as Sherlock's gaze nervously roamed her body. His mouth was slightly agape and he seemed unsure of what to do. She took a step forward and placed herself between his legs. Bending over slightly so she was at his eye level, she pressed her lips to his. His hands rested on her waist, his fingers twitching nervously. She stood back up and walked around to the other side of bed. She slid under the covers and looked at him expectantly.

He had watched her, his eyes never leaving her. "Do you... uh, you want to..." he trailed off, flushing slightly.

She leaned forward and tugged his hand, pulling him towards her. He stretched out next to her, above the covers and still fully clothed. "You've been so open with me, Sherlock. I want to be open with you. Yes, I want to, Sherlock. But if you'd rather we just sleep..."

He pulled back the covers fully, exposing her again. She flushed red as he traced one long finger from her thigh along her side, and she gasped as it ran over her nipple. His eyes jumped hers, and she could tell that there was longing hidden beneath his nervousness. He continued upwards, tucking her hair behind her ear and hovering against her jaw. "I've never... done this sober before."

She reached out and cupped his cheek, running her thumb along its side. "Okay," she whispered. She wanted to assure him it was all right, that they could take things slow or at whatever pace he felt most comfortable. But when his hot lips met her neck as he crawled over her, her mind went pleasantly blank, save for the want and need.

She untucked his shirt from his trousers and ran her hands down its buttons, undoing them as she went. Her fingertips brushed against his bare skin, electrifying his skin and leaving a slow burning trail. When the last button was released, her hands danced up his torso and pushed the open shirt off of his shoulders. Her hands went to the buckle on his belt, unfastening it and tugging it loose from his trousers. His lips returned to hers and she let him set the pace, allowing him to explore her slowly. He tentatively licked her bottom lip, gently nibbling it when he heard her moan.

Molly's hands shook nervously as she unfastened the button on his trousers and unzipped them over his bulge. He gasped as she lightly touched him through the material, pulling back ever so slightly and looking at her. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for his hips and pushed his slacks down, taking his pants down with him. He visibly gulped, then leaned back to shed his remaining clothes and throw them on the floor.

She spread her legs a bit more as Sherlock crawled over her to get himself into position. He angled himself over her, running one hand up from her hip to her jaw. He swallowed nervously again, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. "Are you... um, ready?" She smiled and nodded, reaching up to run her hands through his hair. "We should... oh no..."

"What?" she asked, startled at his panicked expression.

"I don't have a condom," he said frantically looking around, willing one to appear.

A giggle escaped her, and she forced a hand over her mouth to stop herself when Sherlock's surprised gaze turned towards her. She pointed down to her slightly swollen belly. "I'm already pregnant, Sherlock. It's not like you can get me any more pregnant now." She chuckled as a blush graced his cheeks. "Besides, I'm clean, I know you're clean." She raised herself on her elbows and gave him a lingering kiss. "Now stop stalling, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered against her lips.

He kissed her again, pushing her gently on her back. His naked skin pressed against hers, and he bit back a moan. He was careful to not put any more weight on her stomach than necessary, but when she brought her knees up to his waist and he could feel _her_ and everything she had to offer, his mind went blank. Sherlock feared that feeling; it reminded him too much of the times he relied on drugs to get him through the day, and he wanted to avoid that feeling at all costs. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to concentrate. He looked down at Molly beneath him, her hair spread out around her head, her calm smile that always centered him. But her eyes were dark with arousal, which was a new observation for Sherlock, and a primal need to satisfy her coursed through him.

_Just this once_, he thought, allowing his thoughts to cease. But as he sank into her, as her heat enveloped him, and as her lips gently sucked under his ear, he knew that would never be true. He had one last coherent thought before his mind went completely blank.

_Just with Molly_.

...

Sherlock felt pleasantly sated and exhausted. He was on his side, his forehead pressed against Molly's as she used his arm for a pillow. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was even as Sherlock ran his fingers through her tangled hair. His mind was at peace, and for once, he felt no need to overanalyze or overthink anything. Simply concentrating on the feeling of her warm breath on his chest or the feeling of her soft hair between her fingers were enough for him.

His eyes were heavy, and he decided to give in to sleep. He dropped his hand to her lower back and pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. He felt the press of the swell of her belly press against him, reminding him what was coming in a few months. But instead of fear overwhelming him like it normally did when he thought about having a baby, he felt content. Even a bit of excitement. As long as Molly was by his side, he could do this. He could do anything.

He loved her.

The revelation was startling, but the more Sherlock thought about it, the less surprising it became. He realized he loved her when he asked what love was. John was right - he did love in his own way. And he loved Molly very, very much.

He smiled as she shifted in her sleep in response to him pulling her closer. She pushed her leg between his and nestled closer on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, deciding he'd tell her in the morning.

He was almost asleep when she muttered something. "What was that?" he whispered, unsure if she was talking in her sleep.

She tilted her head back to look at him, smiling. "I said yes."

"Yes, what?"

She chuckled and kissed his chin. "Yes, I'll move in with you."

He grinned, the biggest grin he could ever remember making, and he pulled her up close and kissed her. She laughed against his lips, crawling closer and kissing him deeper as both hands returned to her hair.

After a moment, she pulled back, content with just looking at him. He traced her jaw with his thumb, while his other hand gently ran up and down her bare back. "I love you," he whispered.

She smiled, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight that shone through his window. "I know."

* * *

><p>It took several weeks to find a subletter for Molly's flat, but the day finally arrived to move all of her belongings to 221B. Now that she was at the beginning of her third trimester, Molly's doctor had warned her to ease off of heavy physical labor. Fortunately, John volunteered to help and had even convinced Lestrade to come by on his day off.<p>

"Never thought I'd see the day," Lestrade said, balancing two boxes under his arms. "First you and Mary, and now Sherlock and a girl? Molly Hooper at that?"

"Yeah, thanks for that," John replied, rolling his eyes. He knew Lestrade was far from being the only person who thought that he and Sherlock had been an item, but he and Mary had been married for well over a year. He had hoped those rumours would eventually disappear.

"I always thought Molly was a thorn in his side, you know? I mean, I knew she fancied him... even a blind nun could see that. But he was always so standoffish to her," Lestrade continued, oblivious to John's impatience.

"I suppose she started off that way," he replied, trying to balance two boxes as he climbed out of the moving van. "Everything changed when she helped him fake his death. He was a madman trying to protect her from Moriarty the second time around."

"I remember." Lestrade had worked on many cases with Sherlock and only once had he seen the consulting detective get emotional during a case. His fear for Molly's safety drove the whole force crazy, but they worked diligently beside him. It seemed nearly everyone had a soft spot for the pathologist.

Lestrade, as always, had been invited late to the party when it came to Sherlock's new romantic relationship with Molly. She had already been well into her second trimester when he discovered it, and only because Sherlock cut an interrogation short so he could get home to Molly. Rumours had been circulating about the consulting detective having a secret girlfriend, but Lestrade never paid attention to the media. Last time it involved Sherlock, the poor man ended up dead. Sort of.

They made it upstairs with the last of Molly's boxes. Mrs Hudson hung up some Molly's pictures in the hallway, while Mary reorganized a bookshelf to fit some of Molly's books and journals. Molly and Sherlock were nowhere to be seen.

"Where's the happy couple?" Lestrade asked, setting the boxes down on the couch.

Mary pointed upstairs. "The crib arrived earlier today. They're putting it together."

Mrs Hudson looked longingly at the ceiling and cooed. "Oh, it will be so nice to have a little one running around. Let's leave the expectant parents to it; it won't be the two of them alone for much longer. I'll make us some tea."

They heard a large crash above their heads. John and Lestrade began to make their way to the stairs to check on them when a second sound made them stop.

"Was that... a moan?" Lestrade asked, unable to stop staring at the ceiling. He flushed red, as did John, but the ladies chuckled.

"Pregnancy hormones," Mary laughed, shrugging.

"Why don't we take that tea downstairs, hm?" Mrs Hudson said, ushering the men out.

* * *

><p>Sherlock awoke with a start. He reached out next to him to find the bed empty. He was disappointed, but it wasn't so unusual. There were only a few weeks until Molly's due date, and Baby Holmes, as they've taken to calling their unborn child, had a tendency to kick and wake her in all hours of the night. Molly bemoaned the fact that, of all of Sherlock's traits the baby could inherit, of course it had to inherit Sherlock's inability to understand when Molly needed downtime.<p>

Sherlock grabbed his dressing gown and opened the bedroom door. As he padded down the short hallway, he was met with a familiar scent... _coffee_.

He stopped in his tracks, confused. Molly had sworn off coffee and anything caffeinated since she had gotten pregnant. He poked his head around the corner, and sure enough, Molly was tapping her foot impatiently in front of coffee press. "Molly?"

She jumped, spinning around. "Sherlock! What... what are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same... why are you making coffee at three thirty in the morning?" He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then got a better look at her. She was shaking slightly, her cheeks red and eyes swollen and watery. "Molly?"

She sniffled, wiping her nose and looking down. "I haven't felt him move in a while... not at all yesterday. He's usually so energetic at random times. I read that a bit of caffeine might get him going..." she broke off as a sob overtook her.

Without hesitating, Sherlock stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, letting her bury her face in his robe. He stood shocked as he rubbed her back. He had never considered a future without the baby, without becoming a family of three. What if the baby was stillborn? What if Molly left him? What if...

This is what Mycroft had warned him about. What he had always protected himself against. A profound feeling of loss washed over him. He couldn't do this.

_Focus_, he snapped at himself. Now was the not the time to panic. There was no concrete evidence that anything was wrong; he needed proof before he could do anything rash. Before he could let emotions get the best of him. He needed to do this for Molly. For the both of them.

Molly still shook in his arms, but Sherlock felt in control. He pulled back and kissed the top of her head. "Have a cup of coffee, see if the caffeine gets him moving. I'm going to draw you a bath. He always responds in warm water, right?" She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you, Molly."

"I love you, too," she whispered, her voice still heavy with emotion.

...

Sherlock paced frantically in the waiting room, angered beyond belief at the hospital. Apparently it wasn't enough that he was the father of the baby in question, and that the pregnant woman wanted him by her side. Because they hadn't signed a sheet of paper or been together "long enough" according to some hospital aide, he was reduced to waiting away from Molly.

Molly had tried to keep a positive attitude while Sherlock kept his scientific approach. Together, they researched various methods to try to get their baby to move. A bit of caffeine, a warm bath, drinking ice water, eating extra fruit... all were methods they found on various chat rooms and forums from mothers who swore they would work. But nothing had. Baby Holmes still hadn't moved.

"Sherlock!"

John and Mary burst through the doors, concern and worry etched on their faces. "Mrs Hudson rang us as soon as she saw the ambulance. What happened? Where's Molly?"

Sherlock shook where he stood. "The baby hasn't moved in over twenty four hours," he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. "We tried everything that normally works, things we found online... and this blasted place won't let me in because we're not married. Clearly a clerical oversight by some uninformed new intern..."

"Sherlock," Mary said, coming forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. Sherlock awkwardly returned her hug, taking a moment to recognize that, despite the fact he liked Mary, he felt none of the warmth he felt when his arms were around Molly. Nonetheless, he felt comforted that his friends were here to support him in his time of need.

_Friends..._

"Mr Holmes?" The three spun towards a young man in scrubs. "Miss Hooper and the doctor will see you now."

Sherlock froze in his spot. John gently shoved him forward. "Go. We'll be here waiting." Sherlock nodded and followed the young doctor through the double doors.

He led them through a maze of hospital beds and desks while nurses and doctors alike scrambled around them. They stopped in front of a closed door. "Just go in," the intern said. "They're expecting you." Sherlock twisted the handle and opened the door quietly, afraid what was on the other side. His stomach dropped at the sight.

Molly sat in her bed, her face in her hands, sobbing. The OBGYN on call rubbed her back sympathetically. He paused again, the worst thoughts rushing through his mind. But Molly heard the door open and looked up, a bright smile on her face.

"Oh Sherlock," she said, hiccuping and laughing. "He's fine, the baby's fine!" He felt his breath escape him as his shoulders sagged in relief. She stood as he hugged her, pulling her close. She laughed as she pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes. "He moved. As soon as Dr Horton walked in, he started kicking. Really kicking. Furiously. Oh God, I don't think I've ever been so relieved. He really does have your temperament," she said, smiling up at him. He responded by kissing her forehead, unable to speak.

Dr Horton stepped forward, introducing herself to him. "We're going to do a quick scan now that you're here, just to make sure everything is going smoothly. But it seems like everything is fine, and you should be out of here in a few hours. You have a very stubborn baby in there, Mrs Holmes."

"Takes after his father," Molly said, beaming up at Sherlock. Neither one of them bothered to correct her.

Mrs Holmes certainly had a nice ring to it.

* * *

><p>Sherlock began to grow dizzy at the sight of Molly frantically pacing throughout 221B. Anytime she kept still longer than a moment, Baby Holmes would kick and twist and turn, causing her to get up and move again. She hadn't slept much in the past few days, and because of that, neither had Sherlock. Though he was used to getting less sleep than the average person, Molly was not.<p>

"Why hasn't he come out yet?" she cried, her hand over her belly and the other one running through her tangled hair. "He was due on twelfth. It's the fourteenth. Where is he? Why? Why is he waiting this long?"

"Molly, please calm down," he said, reaching for her hand. "I'm sure there's nothing wrong..."

"Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong!" she yelled, pausing to give a harsh glare to Sherlock. "I'll tell you what's wrong... you're bloody son is already driving me wild! I'm not supposed to be this sleep deprived and frantic until after he's born! Oh god, he's going to be a little you..."

"Just sit..."

"I can't sit! Everytime I get off my feet he kicks me! I haven't sat down in nine hours, when he generously allowed me to get two hours of sleep. Why can't he..." She stopped suddenly, her hand immediately going to her stomach and her eyes going wide.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked timidly.

"It's time," she said, looking down between her legs. "Sherlock..."

"On it!" He sprang up, tripping over the table to get to his mobile. He called for a cab, running to the bedroom to grab their overnight bag. He rushed around frantically, checking to make sure he had everything, while Molly leaned against the wall for support. She smiled as he rushed by, asking if she knew where something was. He only paused to give her a kiss, excitement evident in his eyes.

She knew he would do just fine.

...

"Just breathe, Molly. Breathe through it..."

"Sherlock Holmes, not another word from you!" Molly cried as she gripped his hand tight.

"That's right, the contraction will end soon..."

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock winced, almost certain Molly broke one or two of his fingers. Some of the pain must have passed, because her grip loosened slightly. He breathed a sigh of relief, flexing his fingers. "See? It's..."

"Sherlock, my body is tearing itself in two. Don't you dare say it's not so bad!"

A gentle knock came from the door and an older nurse came in. "Molly, dear, the doctor will be along with your epidural shortly."

"Oh, thank god," she sighed, pushing her hair out of her face. The nurse only smiled, bringing her a glass of water.

"Epidural? You said you wanted a natural birth."

"That was before I figured out what giving birth felt like," she replied, gratefully accepting the drink.

The nurse laughed in response. "We get that a lot."

Sherlock shook his head. "You told me to convince you that you didn't want the epidural, that..."

"Aaahhhhh!" Molly cried, grabbing Sherlock's hand and dropping the water.

"Dad, you might want to stop talking now," the nurse said, grabbing the loose glass. "That contraction came quickly. I'm going to find your doctor, the baby might be ready. It might be too late for an epidural."

"What?" Molly weeped as the nurse hurried out. "No, no, no! Too much... oh god, it's too much..."

"I love you, Molly, and in just a few hours..."

"Shut up, Sherlock!"

...

The waiting room was fairly quiet, given it was well after midnight, which suited John just fine. Lestrade dozed in the corner, while Mrs Hudson glanced through a magazine. Beside him, Mary bounced Sheryl on her lap, smiling and cooing as the baby giggled. He watched his two girls and couldn't help but think he was the luckiest man alive.

Of course he and Mary had their ups and downs. It took a long time for him to fully trust her again, but he did. And because of her, because of _them_, they brought the most extraordinary person into the world: their daughter.

He loved Mary. He loved Mrs Hudson. He loved Sherlock. But nothing compared to love he felt for his daughter. She was a source of light when things in his world became too dark. There were parts of John's life he regretted, that he wouldn't want to do again, but he would in a heartbeat because it led to a life with Sheryl.

He wrapped his arm around Mary and kissed her cheek. Sheryl grabbed for his fingers, giggling madly as he wiggled them.

John could only hope Sherlock felt like that with his own child.

As if his thoughts had summoned him, Sherlock pushed through the doors. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes and his hair standing in different directions. Everyone jumped up to greet him and met him halfway.

He looked up at them and grinned. "I have a daughter."

"A daughter?!" Mrs Hudson leapt forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Oh, that's wonderful. Another little girl to have around! She must be precious."

"A girl?" laughed John, clapping his friend on the back. "You were so sure about it being a boy."

Sherlock shrugged and returned a hug from Mary, kissing the top of Sheryl's head. "I can be wrong sometimes." Those simple words were truly a testament to how much he had grown since John first met him.

"What's her name?" Mary asked, bouncing Sheryl on her hip.

"Joanna," Sherlock said, looking back at John. His friend's eyes widened at the realization. Sherlock and Molly named their child after him in the say way he and Mary named their daughter after Sherlock.

"That's a fine name," John said, his voice cracking with emotion. They shared a look, a moment, each realizing how much their lives had changed since the day they first met, and certainly for the better. And as Sherlock described Joanna to the rest of them, John could clearly see that Sherlock would become a wonderful father.

...

"There she is... there's mummy!"

Sherlock entered Molly's room carefully cradling Joanna. Molly raised her head to watch the pair, looking utterly exhausted, but she smiled nonetheless. She had watched Sherlock handle baby Sheryl when she had first been born, and it had been with such fear and trepidation. He now bundled Joanna close, but he was visibly much more relaxed.

Molly reached up and took Joanna into her arms. She kissed the tip of her nose and held her close. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. It was still far too early to tell for sure, but she had Sherlock's shocking blue eyes and what seemed to be Molly's nose. They already knew she was going to be as stubborn as Sherlock, and Molly wondered what traits Joanna would get from her.

Joanna was already swaddled and sleeping soundly. She hardly moved as Sherlock bent down to kiss the top of her head, then do the same thing to Molly. "I changed her into one of her new outfits."

"Already?" Molly asked. "Which one did you put on?"

"Take a look," he answered, gesturing nervously. "She looks rather adorable in it."

Molly chuckled as she gently pulled away the blankets. She could already tell that the top of the onesie was white, which was odd. She didn't remember buying or receiving such a plain outfit...

The rest of the blanket fell away, leaving Joanna only covered in her onesie. She stirred and whined as the chilly air hit her delicate skin, but Molly was almost too shocked to notice.

The outfit was a plain white onesie, or at least it had been. In neat, curvy handwriting that looked an awful lot like Sherlock's, was written:

_Will you marry my daddy?_

"Sherlock," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. She looked to where he sat beside her and was surprised to see him holding a ring. Her eyes widened as they went from looking from the ring to his lock into his gaze.

"Will you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will you marry me?"

Joanna stirred even more and began to cry. Molly quickly covered her with the blanket and held her close, though she let out a watery giggle. "Yes," she murmured, running her free hand through his hair. "Yes!"

He slid the ring onto her finger, smiling widely. He kissed the top of her head and crawled into bed next to her, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder. His free hand gently trace down Joanna's cheek, letting her grasp his finger.

Of all the new challenges he could have been given, he was glad it was learning to love. That certainly gave the biggest reward he could ever hope for.


End file.
